


Respire

by clarasdoctahs (HooperMolly)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HooperMolly/pseuds/clarasdoctahs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t mean intimate like that.” The Doctor says, sounding a little bit frustrated now.<br/>“How do you mean it then?” Clara asks, laying her head down on his chest. The background hum of the TARDIS fades away as she listens to the beating of his hearts and waits for his answer.<br/>“I was thinking about you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respire

_I see you_. She says with her lips brushing against his forehead. _I see you_. She says by pressing a kiss onto his neck. _I see you_. She repeats the words in her head like a mantra as she covers him in kisses; trying to touch as much of him as she can; exploring every line, every curve that she can find with her fingertips so that she can show him that he is everything but invisible to her.

The old him initiated almost every touch, trying to ground himself in her presence. Somehow she senses that this him will be less forthcoming, more stand offish. There will be fewer hugs freely offered, fewer forehead kisses, and less of that disconcerting yet oddly comforting way the Doctor has of looking at her like she is the last few grains of sand slipping through an hourglass. 

No, scratch that last one. That is going to stay. The fear that he might blink and find her gone is still there in his eyes. Everything had changed but nothing _has_ changed. She can sense him growing restless, almost feel that buzzing of excess energy under his skin. The Doctor has never been one for these quiet moments, not any of him. 

“You’re not about to run off on me are you, Doctor?” She asks, more teasing than genuinely concerned. His fingers twitch before he brings a hand up to brush a few stray hairs from her face. 

“I don’t think so. Not today.” She could see the cogs turning inside his head, whirring away at a million miles an hour. “What are you thinking about?” The moment she asks the question she can practically hear everything grinding to a halt. 

“No. We are not going there.” He says, shortly. 

“Why not? Is it embarrassing?” She grins down at him, bordering on a smirk. He glares back at her. At least she thinks that’s what he’s doing. It might just be the eyebrows. 

“It’s not embarrassing...it’s just...intimate.” He says, slowly and carefully, as though he was weighing every word before it leaves his tongue. 

“Oh really, Mr Clara-I’m-Not-Your-Boyfriend? And I don’t suppose that me practically groping you is intimate in you eyes?” He avoids her gaze now and she knows that she’s pushed him to his limits. Maybe later, after time, she would be able to tease him more but he’s still too fragile, too unsure for it to feel safe.

“I don’t mean intimate like that.” The Doctor says, sounding a little bit frustrated now.

“How do you mean it then?” Clara asks, laying her head down on his chest. The background hum of the TARDIS fades away as she listens to the beating of his hearts and waits for his answer.

“I was thinking about you.” He admits, a slight tremor in his voice giving away just how unsure of himself he still is. She smiles into the warmth of his skin, unable to stop herself. 

“That’s to be expected when I’m running my hands up and down your chest.” She says, lifting her head so that she can look up into his eyes, resting her chin lightly over his right heart. Now that he’s lying down with his shirt unbuttoned and she’s had the chance to really look, she can see how thin he is, can _feel_ it. Why is he always so thin? 

“No. I mean _you_ you. I remembered you before I remembered myself. I knew you. I _knew_ you yet I still can’t even remember why I know this face. All the important things - the working well under pressure, the bossy, the impossible girl - I remembered them even when I was getting confused between my left and my right.” He explains. She follows it for the most part, empathising with his clear frustration at still not knowing, not understanding, not _seeing_. 2000 years of self floating in a haze just out of reach.

“Has it happened before? This memory loss and disorientation after regenerating?” He laughs at her question as one would a particularly well executed joke.

“Oh I’ve had it much worse than this. Look up Doctor Grace Holloway if you care to swap stories. Cardiologist from San Francisco. You would have barely been a teenager while I was running around generally terrifying her with no shoes on.” Clara has no clue what he is talking about but _that_ sounds like a story. Maybe she would try and get in touch with this Dr Holloway some day.

“Why didn’t you have shoes?” Clara asks, frowning.

“That’s what you take away from...well I’d been declared legally dead. She very nearly killed me on the operating table after I was shot by a gang. Very rock and roll. Didn’t know I wasn’t human, you see? Still not quite sure how I managed to regenerate after all the trauma she put me through. I was Scottish before that and suddenly I woke up in the dark and the cold and thought I was _half human_ of all things.” He speaks rapidly, no filter between his brain and his mouth as all the words tumble out in a blur.

“Half human?” The Doctor is so alien that she can’t imagine him being even a tenth human.

“It was a strange 24 hours.” He says, nonchalantly.

“I’ll bet. Hang on, you’ve been Scottish before?”

“Yes. Had a bit of thing for question marks, fancied myself a chess master, carried an umbrella. Shame you don’t really remember much of what you saw inside my timeline. You would have liked the seventh me.” He tells her with a sad smile on his face.

“Yeah. I would have.” She says, reflecting the smile back at him. 

“But I love this you.” She adds. She’s caught him off guard. His mouth hangs open slightly, the words he intended to say never having made it out. The look in his eyes is almost indescribable, like he’s not quite sure if this is real or a dream.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. And roll over, I want to have a nap.” Clara commands, pushing him until he turns then curling herself up behind him and draping an arm possessively over his torso.

“I don’t really do the sleeping thing.” The Doctor protests weakly.

“Not doing this for you.” Clara replies.

“Oh. But it’s not exactly comfortable down here and-”

“Shhh.” She silences him, pressing herself firmly up against him and hooking a leg over his, just in case he gets any ideas of going somewhere. As they lie there (and the Doctor is right, it’s not the most comfortable place in the universe but she’s too contented to move) she listens to the steady rhythm of the Doctor breathing. Even and precise, like a metronome. A pattern that she can’t quite match no matter how hard she tries, because he has two hearts and she only has the one. 

She closes her eyes and for the first time in days, she feels safe. Truly and completely, with every cell in her body. She’s meant to be here. It’s not really a feeling, it’s closer to knowledge. A truth of the universe. A fateful alignment of the cosmos to bring her to this moment. 

“Doctor?” She might be saying it or she might not. She’s so close to sleep now that nothing feels real.

“Yes, Clara?” He replies.

“I think I love you.” She mumbles into his shoulder. Sleep claims her before she hears his response.

~

When she wakes up, she finds herself in her bed, swimming underneath the layers of soft, fluffy blankets she prefers. She barely has a chance to open her eyes before the Doctor is speaking to her.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Here, put some clothes on. We’re doing a thing.” He throws a pile of clothes at her. She half expects it to be a mishmash of odd patterns but it’s not. It’s simple, but tasteful, A red silk shirt, black jacket, and black jeans. 

“What kind of thing?” She asks, stretching her limbs out in an attempt to rouse herself.

“You know. A thing. Come on, we’re already late because I had to wait for Sleeping Beauty.” The Doctor replies, waving a hand impatiently.

“Awww, you think I’m beautiful?” She asks, grinning over at him as she throws back the sheets. There’s a book sitting on the side table in the corner, face down so that the place will be kept. The cushion that normally sat in the middle of the chair was lying on the floor.

“I’ll meet you in the main console room in 5 minutes.” He says, before heading for the door. Just as he closes the door, before the click of the latch, he says something. 

And if Clara’s right, if she heard the murmured words correctly, the Doctor said ‘ _of course I do_ ’.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't decide how intimate I wanted this to be and in the end it's come out sounding like the beginning of a new relationship so let's roll with that. I wrote this between Deep Breath and Into The Dalek so it's set somewhere around the time of those two episodes.


End file.
